Born in a storm
by RedTitanAlpha
Summary: Side story to TheAssassinGame fanfic, Brother's Fall. Written with her permission and encouragements: The most powerful ship in the Assassin's fleet is hunted. An emotionally messed up man forced to take control of a desperate situation and curious Assassin noticing his state of mind.
1. Born in a storm

**Category of fanfic:** War Drama, Hurt and comfort and romantic fluff.

 **Main character and pairing:** OMC and OFC. none of the main Ubisoft characters' like Shay will appear in this story. these OC characters also appear in Fanfic. Brother's Fall.

 **Timeline:** Shorty before the event of Rogue and Brothers Fall's written by my co author and friend, TheAssassingame . It is not necessary to read this story before reading Brother's Fall. It merely add some tales to some of the support Oc characters i created while helping her writing the fights battle scenes for her fic.

 **Rating:** M, Because of war trauma. Although there is no detailed graphic description. I do not sugar coat it that war is not fun and physically and mentally scar peoples. There is also mention of suicide and descriptions of PTSD.

 **Copyright:** The Assassin's creed universe and some of the characters belongs to Ubisoft. Other Characters are created by me and shared with my friend, TheAssassinGame. This story was written with her permission and encouragements.

 **Beta reader:** Each chapters are read first by TheAssassinGame and approved by her before publication.

 **Other informations:** The OC characters featured in this story were originally created by me to fill out some battle scene chapters i helped my friend write in Brother's Fall, she liked them to expand them further. So this story is primarily dedicated to her. Thank you my friend for allowing me to help you and run my imagination free. I estimate this fic will be about four to five chapters long.

 **Ship battle Mechanics** **:** You will notice that ship combat mechanics is very different than in the game. I wrote a detailed description without spoiling the story on my profile page about why i wrote it this way rather than what we see in the game.

 **Review warning:** If you have a constructive criticism, do so in a civilised manner. I have no time or tolerance for hate mails and flames, i will not answer to those and they will be reported. If you don't like a fic, read something else.

 **Summary:** The most powerful ship in the Assassin's fleet hunted down. A mentally messed up man forced to take control of a desperate situation, a curious Assassin noticing his state of mind and an ambitious grand master lead an operation in hope of succeeding where his predecessor failed.

 **Born in a storm**

 **Templar headquarters, London**

"I assume you are aware of why I summoned you here?"

No answer came from the Grand Master's interlocutor except for a blink of his eyes, his cold metallic gaze seemed to suck all the warmth in the room only to reflect coldness back. Finally, the man nodded his head and the grand master let out the breath he was unconsciously holding.

"I am here because of a particular ship that is beyond your range and you need external help to reach where your hands wouldn't be able to get."

The blunt answer was said in smooth tone that radiated aloofness.

The Grand Master had heard a lot about pirates, privateers and bounty hunters but the man facing him was the complete opposite of what he expected.

A short haired and tall individual that gave of an air of command to all around him. A scar running along his cheek serving as indication of a hardened life, a dark military uniform that would rival with any of his Templars complete with a nasty looking sword visible in its holster and a brief glance showed a pair of pistols on his hip that were partly covered by the man's coat.

Eyes that seemed to pierce the Grand Master's soul and an expression that gave no indication on what the man thought or felt. If there was any feeling in the first place as the man appeared to be completely devoid of any form of emotions.

The Templar fought down the shiver caused by the hunter's gaze and spoke.

"I have a problem, my group operations are doing well here in England but I am afraid we are still struggling when it come to the seas. We are hard pressed to keep our business afloat."

Again, no visible reaction from the Grand Master's guest.

"My spy has recently discovered a ship that belongs to a particular party that had been meddling in my business."

"I assume you mean a specific ship that is being built in Brest and is in near completion as we speak?" Came a velvety upper class English accent that send another shiver out of the Grand Master's spine.

Where did he get his information from? Part of him wanted to interrogate the pirate but another on the other hand was wary of the consequences should he tries to force an answer out of the man. His knowledge made him uncomfortable. He was the one briefing the hunter, not the one being briefed.

Swallowing his pride, the Grand Master spoke again.

"Yes, my spy has informed me that a powerful man'o'war is being built in Brest. If the vessel became operational, it could seriously make a dent in my business."

"And you wish for me to hunt that ship as soon as it leave the shipyard." The Hunter stated, lazily, monotone, like he had said this so many times before.

"Yes, I have been told that you have resources to get to places where other governments and privateers would fear to tread."

"Perhaps I do." The man answered and went on in his smooth voice. "I accept the mission, I shall hunt this vessel on your command."

"Excellent," the Grand Master said, glad that the contract was finally accepted by the hunter.

"I expect the payment as per my instruction on our initial contact. The first half now, second half upon completion of the job."

Swallowing a small wave of fear, he felt the penetrating emotionless steel gaze from the mercenary.

"Of course, here is the amount we agreed."

The Grand Master pushed a chest forward and opened it. The hunter had no visible reaction as he gazed at the pound sterling it contained.

Apparently satisfied by the content inside the chest, the hunter spoke to the Templar in a tone that radiated certainty, like a judge giving a verdict that were carried out by the law enforcers.

"The vessel will leave Brest only to rest at the bottom of seas, along with any ships that stand in the way."

The man rose up fluidly and stalked toward the exit.

"Oh, and one last thing, Grand Master Birch."

The addressed Grand Master stiffened at the man's next words. Despite the hunter's tone remaining polite and amiable, he somehow made his following sentence sound menacing.

"Whether you have a spy among your ranks or not, I do not take kindly to eavesdroppers."

Reginal Birch paled as the man eyes narrowed and a hint of a smile with an almost feral quality to it appeared before the hunter left the room.

'Eavesdroppers? what did he mean?'

Reginal Birch got up and sprinted to the door, yanking it open only to find the hallway deserted.

'Eavesdropper?' Then a frightening thought came to him as he had a suspicion about the hunter's words.

The Grand Master walked to the side of his office, pulled out a curtain and yelped in fright at the sight offered to him.

"Malcolm?"

An empty vacant stare and a pale face was what greeted Reginal Birch. Taking a breath to regain control of his emotions, heart beating wildly in his chest.

There was no need to check for a pulse as the person state couldn't be more obvious.

The Grand Master had placed that man hidden on standby in case something went wrong with his negotiations but everything had gone smooth, perhaps a little too smooth.

This mercenary that went by the name of Hades was a grim character with a tongue as sharp as a snake that seriously unnerved him.

Reginal Birch started to wonder if employing Hades was such a good idea as it felt like he just made a deal with the devil himself.

******

The bounty hunter walked towards an imposing man who stood up to attention.

"Captain Alexander Grim, sir," spoke the person to his superior who returned the salute.

"At ease, Captain Marshal," Grim answered his interlocutor and went on.

"We have a contract with the London Templar branch."

"Did the Grand Master cause any difficulty this time?" The dark haired man identified as Marshal asked his fellow Captain.

"Not at all, he was sufficiently cowed after our initial conversation. He cannot afford to alienate us as we could always work for his enemies."

Indeed, on the first contact they had, when Grim has stated the price for his services, Reginald Birch had been outraged and attempted to bluster the captain into submission but only ended making a fool of himself as the hunter smoothly pointed out that he had other clients that wanted to acquire his services and made a veiled comment that he could find himself working for another employer that stood against the Grand Master.

"I concur, the Templars are a very powerful organisation but they are not invincible. Their biggest weakness is pride coupled with hunger for power." Commented Marshal.

"Precisely, he will keep this contract a secret because admitting to employing an outside organisation would be showing weakness and tantamount to bleeding in sharks infested water. His followers will devour him alive, yet he cannot afford to make us their enemies." Confirmed Grim with an approving smirk on his face before he went serious and pulled out several documents he laid on the table.

"This is our target, a Couronne class first rate man'o'war. One hundred and twenty cannons, possess above average speed for a ship of its size and can manoeuvre like a third rate vessel. She is equipped with the most advanced weapons available and is currently being built in Brest. The ship construction is almost complete but we should have enough time to hold a reception committee for her."

Captain Grim briefed and paused to allow Marshal to assimilate the information.

"The Templars caught wind of the ship construction but what Birch has ignored is that his spy has been caught by the Assassins. I expect them to rush the vessel into service to leave port as soon as it is ready and will certainly be escorted out in the open seas."

The bounty hunter finished his briefing and gave his directives.

"I want you to lead an operation to take out that vessel, capture her if possible. Such an advanced ship would be a great asset in our forces but do not allow her to leave France, any questions?"

"You are not leading this mission?" Questioned Marshal with a interrogating frown.

"No, I have a more immediate contract that requires my attention." The captain's superior confirmed with sinister smile.

"Understood sir." Acknowledged the mercenary subordinate.

"Good, dismissed." Captain Marshal saluted Alexander Grim and briskly walked out of the room.

*****

 **Brest harbour, France**

"I do not like this, with tension running high between the French and the English. This would be suicide." Protested a uniformed man, his fellow officer next to him nodded in agreement to a hooded figure who answered in a tone that conveyed authority.

"I understand your plight, captain, but we really have no choice. Here, you know what you have to do." The hooded man discreetly gave two keys to the pair and spoke again.

"I am sorry, Captain Dupont, but that is my final word."

The two officers saluted the figure before the Assassin walked out of the office.

"What should we do?" Questioned the second man.

"We do as he says, I'll go and plan our course. Meanwhile, gather the crew and have the ship ready for departure before sunset."

"Yes, sir." Acknowledged the officer before he stepped outside the building.

The man walked through the harbour, searching for something until his gaze settle on someone walking a gangplank from the towering vessel toward land.

"Monsieur Keith!" Hollered the officer.

The man identified as Keith stood to attention and saluted.

"Commander Leclerc." The sailor answered with a diluted Scottish accent.

"A situation has come up, we've been ordered by the council to raise anchor today before the sunset." Leclerc stated.

"But this is suicide, we barely have enough crew to navigate the ship. We still need a few weeks to recruit enough experienced sailors to operate the cannons. Sailing out now with our current crew will leave us vulnerable against even the smallest hostile vessel." Keith said, his tone conveying his disbelief over the directives.

"I understand how you feel, Iain, believe me. I voiced the same objections when the council gave us our orders but they are adamant with their instructions. They also assured us that we will be provided with an escort to compensate our lack of personnel until we reach another port and recruit more men."

"What sort of escort are we talking about?" The Scottish sailor asked.

"We will have the Renegat and the Tonnerre to escort us. The first ship is a third rate heavy frigate and the other a second rate man'o'war." Confirmed Leclerc.

"There's that at least, where are we sailing?"

"I am sorry but I'm not allowed to say," the commander apologized to the Scot.

"I understand," he nodded, "but... I have a bad feeling about this."

The second in command gave Iain a knowing look and spoke again.

"I'll go and gather the crew, I want you to carry out an inspection of the ship. Make sure she is ready and able to sail. I also want you to prepare enough supply for an extended journey."

"Extended journey?" Asked the scottish.

"Affirmative." Confirmed Leclerc.

The sailor nodded to his superior and walked away to carry out the orders he received.

The second in command called out for the crew. Their directives to sail were also met, unsurprisingly, with the same reaction than Iain Keith had in regard to the lack of men serving onboard but after the reassurance of knowing there would be an escort. The crew went to their work station and by late afternoon, the first rate vessel was ready for departure.

"Raise Anchor!"

"Let's cast off!"

Men on the opposite pier worked hard to tug the ropes linked to the ship and help it move away from her berth. Once the vessel was sufficiently distanced from the pier, the Scottish sailor signalled the men on land to release the ropes and allowing the crewmember on board to pull them back aboard.

Fully liberated from the port, Captain Dupont ordered to deploy the sails and put the ship in motion.

The majestic man'o'war slowly reached a safe distance from the harbour and deployed more sails. Several crewmembers operated a large set of five wheels located below the poop deck to steer the ship out toward the sea.

"It seems the report about the Couronne class ability wasn't exaggerated." Commented Leclerc with a raised eyebrow as he surveyed the ship with a critical eye.

"Her speed is quite good for her size and she is surprisingly manoeuvrable. I wonder how she would react if I ordered a full rudder turn." Said Dupont with an impressed look on his face.

At first, the captain had been sceptical about taking command of a first rate three decked warship because they had the reputation of being less stable in rough seas compared to a two decker of similar width and they were normally quite slow and very hard to manoeuvre.

Now however, Captain Dupont started to think that he might have to take back his initial thoughts on the first rate man'o'war.

"Two ships in sight, they're heading toward us!" The yell came out from the top of the main mast.

"Nation identification?" Hollered Iain Keith.

It took a moment before a confirmation came out from the crewmember on watch at the main mast.

"French flag!"

"That must be the Renegat and the Tonnerre," Dupont said while Leclerc was gazing out through a spy glass.

"Indeed it is."

The two ships came closer and flanked the larger first rate. One vessel took position ahead of them while the other placed itself slightly behind the man'o'war.

Iain Keith eyed the escorting warships, a pair of imposing vessels with two dedicated gun decks. The Scottish sailor estimated the smaller ship to be a seventy to eighty cannons third rate heavy frigate while its brother in arms appeared to be a eighty to ninety cannons second rate ship of the line. The council had delivered their promises as they now had heavy firepower on their side.

Perhaps this voyage might not be as bad as they thought. Dupont contemplated the sun which was slowly setting down in the horizon.

"Multiple ships in sight!" Yelled out the man on the watch.

"How many?" Iain questioned.

"Eight!"

"Flag?" Asked Dupont, even if they were still in French waters, it was better to be cautious.

The answer came out minutes later in the form of a frightened yell.

"English! They're English!"

English? How is that possible? How did they come this close to France? Even with the rising tension, no English vessel would dare venture so close to the French coast.

The captain wasn't a very superstitious man in nature but he began to wonder if he jinxed himself when he thought that all might be going well.

The crewmembers began to mutter fearfully between themselves.

"We're dead, eight against three, Lord help us all."

The enemies ships varied in size. There was four single decked ship, two brigs and two frigates. Three larger vessels had two dedicated gun deck, ranging from fourth to second rate from the look of it and a full three deck ship of the line away from the others could be identified in the distance coming from the side.

"Hard turn to port, full sail!" Roared Captain Dupont.

The Renegat executed a hard turn on starboard followed by the Tonnerre and headed straight toward the English forces.

"Are we going to help them!?" A crewmember said in indignation.

"There is nothing we can do. We barely have enough men to navigate the ship, we might be able to operate the mortars and ten cannons at most." Another sailor answered the question.

"Their mission is to provide us with an escort for this very reason." Leclerc said.

Two double deck frigates turned toward the Renegat followed by a brig.

The Assassin ship was bigger than the attacking warships but their adversary made it up in numbers. One of the enemy frigates took the lead followed closely behind by the second vessel.

The Renegat opened fire as soon as she got her broadside lined up with her foe who responded with cannon fire. Mortar shots were exchanged between the fighting vessels and the relative close proximity to each other made it easy for both attackers to hit their mark.

The larger Assassin ship dealt significant damage to her opponent thanks to her superior firepower but this victory was short lived because the second frigate quickly made her move, not allowing the crew of the Renegat to recover from the first onslaught. The enemy warship bombarded the third rate vessel from the other side, weakening the lone Assassin ship considerably.

The heavily damaged Renegat attempted a turn to line up her mortars toward the enemy frigate which was further away and veering back to make a second run but that action was interrupted as the small brig, a fourth rate fast warship took action, unleashing her own broadside against the defenceless ship who expended her first salvo on both side and were now reloading.

The third attack however caused critical damages to the Renegat.

The two frigates were now coming back toward the now crippled Assassin affiliated ship.

This time, instead of unleashing a full barrage of their broadside, one of the frigates fired her short ranged carronades. The weapons belched anti-personnel grapeshot over the deck and decimated the adverse crew in the process.

The second enemy frigate altered her course to slam against the third rate warship, their flanks grinding against each other as grappling hooks were thrown over the Assassin ship in order to board their foe.

The brig imitated the frigate and crashed against her opponent from the other side in order to assist her teammate in the boarding operation.

Meanwhile, the second and larger Assassin second rate ship, the Tonnerre, wasn't faring better.

She was alone against four ships, two small single deck frigate and a brig but the vessel in the lead was as imposing as the Tonnerre and was followed from behind by one of the small frigate.

Both attackers were exchanging mortar shots between each other, huge splashes rose up from each side of the ships. The firing crew watched where their salvo landed and made corrections for their next attack to get a closer shot until they could actually hit their enemy.

The English and French second rate ship lined their broadside against their respective opponent and unleashed their cannons upon each others.

One of the two adversary frigates carefully avoided the larger French vessel's broadside by veering hard to line her own weapons toward the Assassin ship's bow and fired her own shots.

While the two second rate pounded one another, the brig sneaked her way by using its larger allies as a cover to get closer to the Tonnerre's stern section and veered to point its broadside toward her target.

The wind coming from the direction of the French warship blew over the brig's flank and caused her to list sideways, aiming the cannons toward the sails in the process which was the intention of her captain.

The English brig opened fire, chained cannonball spun in the air as they flew toward their foe to damage the masts and tear through the sails.

The enemy frigate that immediately followed behind her second rate allies was free to pound the Tonnerre which had spent their first salvo over the bigger and more dangerous two decked enemy vessel.

The Tonnerre had taken substantial damage but would have still been able to fight, however the crippling blow over the sail caused by the brig made her a sitting duck against her adversaries.

The two frigates and the brig remained out of range from the Tonnerre broadside while the second rate English man'o'war turned over and fired several salvo of grapeshot against her foe before the ship veered sharply and rammed the French vessel's flank followed by the frigate whose crew began to throw grappling hooks toward the Tonnerre.

From the deck of the fleeing Assassin first rate man'o'war, the crew watched in muted horror the hopeless battle that their escort had engaged in.

Captain Dupont and his second, commander Leclerc who had many years of service in the Marine Royale Française were the most affected along with several French crewmembers.

Some had tears in their eyes at the carnage that was taking place. These two ships had a combined crew of over one thousand and half. All these people were facing impossible chances and were now sacrificing their lives so that the most advanced ship in the Assassin's fleet could escape.

This was a cruel dilemma the captains of the two escorting ships were facing as they had the choice of either attempting to flee and risk being chased until destruction by their adversary or commit themselves to a losing battle.

A thought that was absolutely unbearable for Captain Dupont who wished more than anything to join the two vessels in battle, to assist them even against the odds but his directive were clear and for that he cursed the Assassin's council for placing such a burden on his shoulders.

Iain Keith lowered his gaze onto the deck, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he could feel the pain his fellow sailors went through. Like Dupont and many others on board, he would have preferred to be with the men fighting against the threat rather than fleeing like a coward.

He brought his gaze up before turning away from the carnage and froze up as a more imminent danger caught his attention.

"Man'o'war, on our port!" The Scottish sailor hollered, bringing the crew attention back to their own situation.

The enemy first rate man'o'war had gotten significantly closer to their flank unnoticed thanks to the chaos generated by the battle that was taking place between the escorting ships and the English forces.

"She is on an interception course with us." Reported Iain Keith gravely.

The crew were now trapped between a rock and a hard place, literally, as on one side was a fully operational one hundred cannons warship bearing toward them in an interception trajectory and Captain Dupont couldn't turn away to starboard to evade their foe because it was where the coast of France was located and made it impossible for the Assassin ship to use her superior speed to evade the huge enemy vessel.

Loud reverberating noise sounded as their adversary opened fire with mortars and lightening the darkening sky. Several seconds later, a huge column of water rose up as the enemy salvo fell short and over around the Assassin's man'o'war.

More shots came through and fell closer toward the ship. The crew could hear the whistling sound of the projectiles travelling through air before falling into the water.

"This is not good, captain, as soon as they get their broadside in range, we're as good as dead!" The Scottish sailor yelled out.

"We have no choice but to return fire with what we can. Arm the mortar and standby to open fire on my command." Ordered Captain Dupont.

A mortar shot passed through the sail and fell in the water near the ship while another projectile hit the hull on the side and threw the crew off their feet. The enemy man'o'war had found the range.

The men were loading the mortars rather clumsily as they were facing a problem. These were no ordinary mortars but a new experimental weapon developed specifically for this vessel and the crew didn't get the time to train on how to operate them. Innovation included predetermined amount of powder in bags and the ammunition were filled with oil that were supposed to be ignited on impact.

More flashes of fire came from the enemy warship's deck as shots whizzed toward the Assassin vessel.

A deafening bang resounded on the poop deck, throwing nearby sailors on the floor while others further away attempted to protect themselves against the flying shrapnel from torn parts of the ship.

Iain Keith on the weather deck sprinted up to where the projective had stricken. The five set of rudder wheels which is one floor below on the quarter deck and protected by a roof and walls were spared from the explosion that would have otherwise crippled the vessel ability to manoeuvre.

Climbing the stairs three steps at a time, the sailor's face paled when he saw the result of the latest mortar impact.

The poop deck was tainted by a large pool of blood as the unrecognisable remains of the Captain stained the previously clean floor.

Several feet away, laid sprawled against the railing, was Commander Leclerc, clothes torn and flesh horribly mangled. The officer was howling in pain with the side of his face brutally disfigured.

Swallowing a surge of revulsion, Iain yelled out. "Get Leclerc to the doctor's quarter! Now!"

Two men frantically lifted the second in command and brought him inside the ship while Iain felt a wave of fear as he realised that he was now responsible for the ship but he didn't get the time to ponder.

"Everyone! take cover!" Iain roared, taking charge.

The ship shook violently as several mortar shots impacted against the hull, one projectile fell on the forecastle and decimated the nearby unfortunate crewmembers.

Raising back up from his crouched stance, Iain growled over the weather deck.

"Are the mortars ready to fire?"

"Aye, sir," came the confirmation from an officer he knew as Jörgen.

The Scottish sailor now in command jumped over the railing, careless of the risk of injuring himself in the process and lurched toward the rows of mortar on the ship's flank.

"Listen up, I am going to give you specific instructions and I need you to trust me to do exactly as I say. Can you do that?"

Iain was met with a nod from Jörgen and the other crewmembers. Some looked at the now commanding sailor uncertain on how to take his words.

"I also want starboard mortar one, two and three loaded and turned around, aimed toward the enemy."

The sailor went on with his instructions while some of the men look at him in disbelief.

"What!? Are you mad!? We're going to hit our own ropes! I don't know what you are thinking, sir," a French sailor named Laurent commented fearfully but a piercing glance from Iain and a firm "Do it!" made the sailor obey the directive despite his protest.

Iain helped the men direct the mortars while giving his instructions on where to aim each weapon until all of them were positioned the way he wanted.

"All port mortars! On my mark only, not before!"

The crew watched tensely as the commanding sailor seemed to wait for something and wondering what he was up to or what he was waiting for.

"Port mortars, fire!" Barked the Scotsman.

The crew ignited the weapon and scrambled away on time as six consecutive resounding shots pierced the near darkened sky.

Moments later, water splashed on the flank rose above the enemy ship's bow followed by five impacts over the deck.

Cheers rose up as the result of the hit they scored, however several men were also staring at Iain with a gobsmacked expression and even with fear. However the sailor didn't take the time to behold the result as he ran to the starboard side of the ship. He repeated the process and directed the firing crew on where to aim the mortar before he ordered the three weapons to be fired.

The crew watched in stunned disbelief as the shots apparently not only didn't hit their own ropes or mast but two of the three projectile actually hit their adversary while the last one fell just behind the stern section of the English vessel.

"How did you do that?" Questioned Laurent with a wary look toward the Scot, voicing several of the crew's thoughts.

"No time for questions, reload port side mortars and wait for my instructions," Iain cut the man's question and turned toward their opponent. The enemy man'o'war was no longer firing its mortar as the weather deck was on fire and the ship was forced to retract the lower sails to prevent them from catching fire but she was still lumbering closer to broadside range where the mortars would be completely useless.

A crew member signalled that the mortars where ready to fire and Iain once again gave his instructions, waiting for the right moment before he ordered to open fire.

Incendiary shots rained down and hit their mark with devastating results. The enemy ship was now well and truly in flames. Despite their best effort, the sail on the mizzen mast had caught fire as one projectile hit there.

Several smaller explosions could be seen over the enemy vessel and she began to veer off course. The bow was briefly pointed toward the Assassin ship and their foe fired the chase guns, striking the Assassin ship on the side of the hull.

With a loud horrifying grating sound that reminded the crew of iron grinding together accompanied by creaking noises, the adverse ship began to capsize while being consumed by the fire. The crewmembers of the Assassin first rate ship were alternating between cheering and staring in horror at the macabre spectacle offered by their opponent which poisoned the initial feeling of triumph.

There was a certain feeling of justice for what happened to the Tonnerre and the Renegat but it was a hollow victory as this kind of situation could have as easily happened to them.

Iain's gaze was fixated toward the sinking ship as he heard the distant terrified scream coming from the enemy vessel as crewmembers were jumping overboard, some of them where literally transformed into human torches.

"Iain! help! Iain!"

"Jump! break the window and jump!" Iain screamed toward a window on the second floor of a burning house.

"Sir?..." "Sir?!..." "SIR!?"

A hand that belonged to Laurent shook the sailor's shoulder and brought him back to the present moment.

'Bloody hell! What's happening to me?' Iain thought in distress before his fellow crew mate reported.

"We have three ships following us, sir," Laurent reported.

"Turn hard to starboard and set full sail, we'll head west toward the Atlantic," rasped the improvised captain. The ship had now cleared the coast of France and was free to manoeuvre.

Iain took a spy glass and walked toward the railing at the stern section of the ship.

Indeed, they were being chased by three of the seven vessels that attacked the Renegat and the Tonnerre. The pursuers, a brig and two frigates, one of them had two cannon deck.

"Our ship is very manoeuvrable and fast for her size but its not enough. They will eventually catch us. Our only hope is to meet with allied vessels on our way." Iain stated gravely.

"Couldn't we just do what we've done? I don't know how you did that but we could attack them with the mortars." Laurent asked, hoping for a miracle or a solution to turn the tide in their favour.

"No, it won't work because we have to present our broadside which will allow them to catch us faster. We might be able to hit a ship but by the time we defeat one of them, the other two shall be in broadside range and we'll be in trouble." Iain explained.

"I understand, sir," Laurent acknowledged reluctantly.

"Get some explosive barrels up here. If we are well timed, this should slow them down as they will be forced to execute evasive manoeuvres and help prevent the enemy from aiming their chase guns at us," Iain ordered to Laurent before giving another order to Jörgen. "Take some of your men and go to the stern gun station down below"

With a nod, the man selected his team and disappeared on the lower decks. The Scots for his part formed a third group of crewmembers and sent them to assess the damage taken during the battle.

The sky has turned completely dark as daylight was truly gone. Only the lamps from their adversary could be made out in the horizon while the black water blended with the night sky. The pursuit continued on for almost an hour with their enemy gaining on them and getting closer to the range where they could use their bow cannons.

Something drew Iain's attention, the sailor turned toward the man'o'war's bow but he saw nothing and was about to bring his attention back to the enemy when he saw it.

A distant flash illuminated the night sky and highlighted a nasty looking cloud briefly in the distance in front of them. Few seconds later, a lightning bolt illuminated the horizon and they were sailing toward it.

As time went on and their enemy continued to get closer, more lightning appeared in a faster pace. The cloud was growing bigger in their sight and the wind was picking up and getting more gusty as the waves were increasing in size.

The Assassin ship was again trapped between a rock and a hard place in the metaphoric sense, or rather, between a storm and a hard place.

"This is going to be nasty." Commented Laurent with apprehensive tone.

"I know, but I don't think we have much choice at this point." Said Iain with a resigned sigh.

The storm finally reached them as rain started to pour and became suddenly intense almost at once and the waves were getting dangerously huge. The vessel was rolling sideways and pitching up and down as the bow smashed through the waves, sending water over to the forecastle.

The three enemy ships reached their firing range and opened fire but the large waves either threw their aim off or deflected the shots away from the target.

The man'o'war returned fire with the two stern guns but it was of little success as the low location of the cannons caused the projectiles to either bounce over the water or pass well above the mark depending on where the stern was pointing.

A lightning bolt fully illuminated their adversary briefly. Each vessels attempted to use this to their advantage. Some of the shots fired by the pursuers managed to hit the stern section of the Assassin ship.

"Drop the explosives," ordered Iain, however it was mostly ineffective as the waves carried them on randomly over the water and didn't seem to get close to the enemy from the brief glimpse offered by the lightning.

The three ships continued to fire the chase guns with mixed result as they struggled to aim their bow toward their mark.

Wood creaked as the man'o'war's bow pounded the waves. From the short view offered by the flash of lights, the brig fared somewhat well thanks to her narrow shaped hull and ram, allowing her to slice the waves while the similar sized frigate seemed to have more difficult due to her wide, blunt shaped bow. The two decker however appeared more at ease thanks to her superior size in comparison to the smaller frigate.

"Hard to port!" Hollered Iain without warning.

"What!?" Laurent wondered while the ten crewmembers operating the large set of wheels made colossal efforts to counteract the feedback caused by the weather and steer the ship.

"I suggest you brace yourself, Laurent."

"What do you..." The French officer asked before he stopped and paled when he saw the horizon briefly illuminated.

"Oh mon dieux! non non non!" The Frenchman exclaimed fearfully, his voice pitched higher with every word he said.

"Drop barrels!" Iain barked, turning his gaze forward he roared

"Brace everyone! Take cover! We have the white cliffs of Dover coming toward us."

The crew wondered what the man meant when they saw it.

"Neptune's coming to claim our souls," muttered a crewmember fearfully. Bearing toward them was a giant wave of epic proportion that easily dwarfed the first rate man'o'war.

The small single deck frigate behind the man'o'war was hit by one of the barrels that was being thrown around by the chaotic water. The smaller ship veered sharply to dodge a second explosive and found herself in front of the double decker which forced the bigger frigate into turning hard to avoid the collision.

As the monstrosity of a wave hit, the ship's bow raised upward, pointing the ship almost vertically as crewmembers screamed their lungs out in fright at the hard pitching move of the vessel.

Iain Keith at the stern clung on for life as he felt the rear of the man'o'war drop sharply, the downward motion gave him the horrible sensation of having his entire stomach going up through his sternum.

Suddenly, the Scottish sailor found himself pushed on the floor as the combining gravity with the stern brutally raising up and giving him the sensation of being crushed by an invisible hand.

Peering between the bars of the railing gave Iain a view of the weather deck and the forecastle which was illuminated by several quick successive lightning flashes before it smashed the water and disappeared as it underneath the seas while splashes of water flowed over the deck. Iain closed his eyes and continue to grip the railing to save himself from being thrown overboard by the water.

After several agonising seconds, the ship seemed to settle to its normal pitching motion which although were very strong, was nothing in comparison to what they just sustained.

Iain tentatively opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. They were still afloat, shaken but alive.

Next to him, Laurent lost control of his stomach and threw up over the deck but the weather quickly washed the stain caused by the French crewmember.

Iain turned around and gazed over the horizon, taking advantage of the lightings illuminating the horizon to inspect their surroundings. The enemy ships where no longer chasing them. Whether they escaped the freak wave or not, it looked like the Assassin ship was now alone in raging storm.

Turning his attention back to the pale French sailor who lifted his head back.

"Are you alright?" Questioned the Scotsman.

The French man rose up, stumbling slightly and spoke in a subdued tone but loud enough to be heard.

"I don't think I am made for the seas."

"Is it your first voyage on a ship?" The Scot asked his fellow crewmember, getting a nod in return from the man. "As far as I am concerned, you did better than most. We are sailing in the hurricane and storms season. This is nature at her worst and you will probably encounter this sort of giant wave once or may be twice in a lifetime. They are very rare, trust me." Iain Keith tried his best to comfort the shaken French sailor. "It's look like we're alone, I'm going down to see how Commander Leclerc is holding up. If anything comes up, just yell for me." The Scottish man said before he walked below the deck and reached the doctor's quarter which looked pretty much banged up and disordered due to the chaos caused by the raging weather.

"Sir, it's a good thing you came here, I have bad news, I don't think Commander Leclerc will survive the night, he is too grievously injured." The doctor reported in a apologetic tone.

The Scotsman nodded and walked over to the bloodied second in command whose body seemed to be shaking. The man's eyes came in contact with Iain and he motioned him closer with his finger.

The sailor lowered himself to hear what his superior officer wanted to say only for a hand to snatch his own in a strong grip. Leclerc's face came closer to Iain's ear and murmured softly.

"Captain's cabin." His grip remained a moment before it slacked off and the agonising officer fell back on his bed with a vacant stare.

Iain stood still for a moment in silence. The only sound that seemed to disturb the solemn mood was the creaking of the wood caused by the waves.

The Scotsman brought a hand and closed his superior's eyes down and opened the other one to find a bloodied key resting in his palm.

"I am sorry sir, I tried everything I could but-"

"I am sure you did everything in your power, doctor, thanks." Iain nodded with an expression of sorrow. The officer managed to hang on to life despite the chaotic situation long enough to give him that key. The sailor lifted himself up and walked out of the room, struggling against the rolling motion of the ship and his own emotions as he headed toward the captain's cabin with the intent to investigate what was the key for.

The cabin like the doctor's quarter was in complete disarray thanks to the weather. Iain looked around to see if there was anything with a lock before he reported his attention to the office at the room centre.

Taking a moment to examine it, Iain pushed a chair sideways and saw a small metal safe bolted underneath the desk. Using the key to unlock it, the man opened the box to reveal its content.

Pulling out the envelope from its shelter, Iain tore it open, unfolded a letter and began to read.

 **'Captain Jonathan Dupont.**

 **First I would like to apologize on behalf of the council for putting you in this position. I understand how a ship of this magnificence requires an astromical number of men to operate her but we have no choice to send you away.**

 **'The reason behind this decision is because we have uncovered two Templar spies, one from the french side and the other seemed to be working for the London branch. We already thwarted two attempts to sabotage your vessel and we have reason to believe the Grand Master of the Templars in London is going to get involved to help their French counterpart.**

 **'We are taking a gamble by sending you out prematurely, we hope by doing this to keep a step ahead of them. To help you in your goal, we sent you the third rate frigate, the Renegat and our second rate, the Tonnerre. Hopefully their presence combined with your ship will discourage any potential enemy to challenge your vessel.**

 **'Their orders are to escort you to your final destination which is the colonies where you will meet the Mentor Achilles Davenport at the homestead north of Boston. We have included a map indicating the location of your destination along with further information.**

 **'Farewell in your journey,**

 **Charles Dorian.'  
**  
The letter was written in French. Thanks to sailing for years with several Frenchmen and spending a lot of time in France, Iain was able to somewhat decipher the instructions and get the gist of the message.

'So much for taking a step ahead from the Templars,' Iain thought sadly. This raised many questions. How did the royal navy managed to get this close to Brest without getting intercepted by a complement of French ships? It was obvious that it had been a carefully planned assault that were aimed at this specific Man'o'war and the English weren't so bold as to send an all out onslaught against a single first rate vessel no matter how advanced it was as France has quite a substantial number of second and first rate warship at their disposal.

Those attackers could only be Templars, there was no other logical explanation.

Iain pondered the event. A vision of the burning enemy man'o'war flashed through his mind.

"Jump!"

"Help! Iain!"

The Scottish gasped as his mind was brought back to the present. his heart beating wildly in his chest.

'Am I going mad?' The man wondered, shaking his head from these disturbing thought. Iain exited the captain's cabin and went up to the poop deck. The storm was still raging outside.

"Any sign of enemy ships?" His question got a negative answer from Laurent. The Scotsman scanned the horizon as best as he could and once satisfied, motioned for the Frenchman to follow him on the deck below, near the rudder wheels.

Sheltered from the rain, Iain gave the letter to Laurent who read it. An expression of understanding on his face mixed with fear as he asked in a worried tone.

"What should we do, sir?"

"I think we should follow those directives, we don't know if more ships are waiting for us back in France and without the crew to operate the canons..."

Iain didn't say anymore as he knew his fellow crewmembers understood what he meant and went on.

"We have no idea whether the enemy survived the wave but if they did and managed to get back to port, there is a good chance they will report our ship as sunk. As far as they know, our vessel disappeared in a storm."

The Scottish sailor analysed the consequence of their situation. "If we reach the colonies, the Assassins will certainly do a makeover on the ship to change her appearance so she wouldn't be easily recognised." Iain pondered.

"Perhaps we could suggest a change of name, or slightly change it. We could add the name Storm before the name Fortress. As in the Storm Fortress," suggested Laurent.

"Not a bad idea, poetic considering that the ship had to fend off a storm and survived a freak wave on her maiden voyage. You could make the suggestion to the crew. If they agree, as far as I am concerned, I am fine with it."

Iain gave a weary nod of approval as fatigue was taking its toll on him now that the tension from the fight had calmed.

The sailor made an announcement, explaining the directives in the letter and called out for a vote. Most crewmembers agreed with the conclusion that if their foe had survived, they would report the Assassin vessel missing.

Iain ordered Laurent and some of the most weary looking crewmembers to get some rest, the sailor stating that he would take the first watch.

End of chapter. 


	2. Aftermath and PTSD

**Coast, north of Boston**

"The homestead is in sight, Captain Keith." A crewmember reported to a slender man dressed with practical but somewhat modest clothing.

"Thank you, Laurent, please raise the coded flag so they don't mistake us for an enemy and we'll bring our ship to the docks." The man said quietly to the crewmember who transmitted his command.

A long and perilous journey had finally ended. They better be thankful because so many dead were left in the wake of this vessel in order to deliver her to the colony mentor. Enough blood had been spilt to allow this entire man'o'war to float on it.

Unfortunate men from both side died, perhaps not even realising they were doing the bidding of a shadowy organisation like a doll manipulated by a puppet master. Others passed away from sickness caused by the extended time spent away from civilisation.

A transatlantic crossing always posed a great challenge on any vessel and their crew. The ship that is now being nicknamed, the Storm Fortress for surviving a freak storm on her first night was no exception to the rule.

Weather was a constant concern as it kept changing on a whim. Even though the storm was well passed after their first night out of Brest, the Fortress continued to sustain rough waves for almost an entire day before it began to calm down. Sometimes, the wind had been so calm that the water looked like a mirror blending with the thick fog of the Atlantic, in this case, no matter how many sails were deployed, the ship wouldn't move an inch and made the crew feel as if time stood still.

The entire voyage was made with these constant change of nature's mood.

The man watched pensively as the land grew closer. The beautiful homestead standing on top of the cliff highlighted by the sun setting came in view for the crewmembers to see.

Standing over the poop deck, Iain Keith addressed the crew. "Once we arrive, you are free to do as you please. Get some deserved rest and if you have a woman waiting for you, then go and be with her. Again I apologise for this unscheduled Atlantic travel. Thank you for your patience, dedication and your loyalty despite the odds against us. Let's bring us to land." Iain ordered the men who cheered at his words before walking to the weather deck and help the crew retract to half sail.

This was one thing that helped the man earning the crew's loyalty. Even though he acted as an unofficial captain, he wasn't afraid to step down from the poop deck and personally help the skeleton crew in executing the normal ship operations. Deploying the sails, manipulating the ship's weapon and going himself on top of the main mast to get a view over the horizon.

These small actions had saved Keith from being overthrown in a mutiny as several crewmember accused Iain of witchcraft after they witnessed him aim the ship's mortar with a level of precision that shouldn't be possible. Some even went as far as to declare that the man had made a deal with the devil or conjured the storm himself to escape their enemies. But as unnatural these apparent actions were, they also saved the vessel from being sent to the bottom of the sea. So any attempt at a mutiny had been thwarted before they even began to take form by the more loyal and less superstitious crew.

As the man'o'war finished the long, slow docking procedure. Iain went to the captain's cabin to retrieve a thick leathery book and scanned the ground surface of the pier.

There was already a reception committee waiting for them. Beside the hard working personnel on the dock to catch the ropes thrown overboard by the ship's crew in order to tie her to the pier. Three figures stood waiting in a triangle formation, observing the huge warship.

The first person appeared to be an African descended man wearing a white robe with his hood down that Keith assumed was Achilles Davenport, the leader of the Assassin branch in the new world. Another person stood slightly behind him, hood down as well. The third Assassin was wearing an intimidating dark outfit with the hood up and stood slightly behind Achilles like some sort of bodyguard.

Once the ship was securely held to the pier and the gangplank lowered, Keith nodded his consent for the crew to get off the vessel. The acting captain watched as the sailors got off board, some helping others out as they were too exhausted or sick to get out by themselves.

Keith made one last inspection of the deserted ship before he walked over the weather deck. Pausing as a wave of panic rose within him. Quick breaths while his heart beat accelerated.

" _IAIN! HELP! ME!" A distant voice resounded in his head as he saw flames in front of him._

 _"SHIP'S BURNING! Jump!. Too late! JUMP!"_

A wave of nausea rose within him, gripping the edge of the deck railing. Iain tried to slow his breath and calm himself.

Getting his focus back to his environment, the deck was now empty, devoid of daylight as the sun had disappeared from the horizon and an eerie silence now greeted the man. The sensation of panic was replaced by melancholic feelings.

With a slightly wobbly steps, Keith schooled his face into a neutral expression as he concentrated to control the twitching in his left hand. Clutching the thick book tightly, he walked over the ramp toward the waiting mentor. The other white robed unknown man and the fearsome looking tall, dark hooded figure who appeared to be waiting for him.

"I am Achilles Davenport, I assume you are the captain?" The mentor talked in a polite tone that didn't betray any form of emotions yet conveyed that a report was expected.

"No, my name is Iain Keith, I was acting as the equivalent of the third commander or lieutenant. Captain Dupont and our first mate, Commander Leclerc were killed in combat. I temporarily took over until we arrived here."

"What? How did this happen?" Achilles demanded, his neutral expression contorting in shock.

The sailor presented the large book to the leader of the Assassins and spoke.

"Everything you need to know is written in detail. There is too much to summarise in a few minutes and I am in no state for that tonight. Now if you'll excuse me." The weary tone made his feelings clear as he bowed to the mentor and walked away under three watchful pair of eyes.

Achilles didn't know what to think of this man while his fellow Assassin shrugged as if to say, don't ask me. The dark figure watched, frowning in thought at the retreating man whose shoulders were slumped.

"Liam, I want you to follow him and see what he is up to. Report back to me if you find anything."

"Wait, leave that to me. I'll do it." The black figure spoke with an English accented feminine voice.

"Very well then. Report back if something comes up."

Achilles nodded to the darkly dressed person revealed as a woman.

Liam nodded, knowing his fellow Assassin would do a better job than him at following someone in the night.

Iain Keith didn't even bother to hire a room in a local Inn, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep properly. Instead, he bought some material from a shop and set a hammock under a tree near a cliff that overlooked the Atlantic ocean.

Over the following days, the man fell in a semblance of routine as he aimlessly wandered over the docks at day, watching incoming and departing ships while the harbour was bustling in its daily activities, then going to the colony's equivalent of a pub to take a drink he would sip slowly before washing himself and return to his hammock for another restless night. On other days however, Iain would hire a room in a nearby inn when the weather looked particularly unstable.

This was when he briefly glimpsed a blue aura among the crowd. Yet he couldn't isolate said aura amid the multitudes of peoples as they carried on their daily activities. "Did I see that?"

It was worse when he was away from civilization. Iain could feel a presence without actually seeing it. The Scottish man wondered if he was really being followed or going mad, remembering how he almost jumped in fright when he saw a deer trotting around.

'I knew shoving that log and dismissively walking away from the Assassin leader to feel sorry for myself wouldn't endear me in his eyes.' The man thought bitterly as he returned to his room at the Inn.

Yet why that figure showed in blue? Iain had learned long ago what the colours from this... ability meant and blue wasn't the colour of someone who intended to harm him.

The sailor held no illusions, though. If the Assassins wanted him dead, he wouldn't be here. Iain wasn't afraid of dying but rather feared how death would greet him. Will his existence end in a long suffering decline or would he pass away quickly and peacefully?

"You know, this should be a proud occasion, yet you look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

A soft elegant accented feminine voice addressed the Scotsman. His heart missed a beat when he recognised the tall dark Assassin who stood next to Achilles days ago at the homestead harbour now standing in his room.

'A woman? That was unexpected.' Iain thought, but that didn't make the now identified female Assassin any less intimidating.

Is she here to kill him? If so, would he suffer a long drawn out death from his potential executioner?

This didn't mean he would make it easy for her, the Scottish man had no intention of going down quietly if she judged and found him wanting.

The Assassin lowered her hood, revealing porcelain coloured skin, midnight black hair tied in a bun behind her head with few strands framing her regal face that emphasized her huge icy coloured eyes, giving the woman an air of royalty.

The man gulped slightly under her piercing gaze but he managed to speak in a polite tone and introduced himself.

"Iain Keith."

"I know, I'm Victoria Smith." Stated the Assassin, eyeing the man critically.

When the ship had arrived, the woman quickly noticed the partly ripped sails and the sun setting behind it gave the large warship a chilling appearance. As the vessel came closer, Victoria could see evidence of battles over the hull.

When she saw the man in command of the imposing vessel walking out on the gangplank, Victoria didn't know what to make of him. From anything the Assassin had expected, she was caught off guard by his appearance, a tall slender and border line frail man that gave the impression he would break if she gave him the slightest poke.

The man was reasonably good looking but would be easily overlooked in favour of more well built individuals.

Yet his voice had her captivated. A surprisingly low pitched tone that would be perfect for narrating a story in front of an audience. His words were equally surprising as he politely introduced himself and moved on directly to the core subject with short, concise words while he gave a rather thick book to the mentor before he excused himself.

Victoria didn't care much about seamen in general. In her experience, they had a tendency to be drunk braggarts and sometime womanisers on top of these two traits.

Yet there was something different with this man that caught her attention. A single glance revealed him as a contradiction to the stereotypical sailors Victoria had previously met.

Her curiosity raised, Achilles' order to have him under observation was the perfect opportunity to study the Scottish accented man.

The more Victoria watched, the more puzzled she became with the Scotsman. He drank alcohol yet never enough to get drunk, handling the bottle with care, suggesting a level of respect for the drink and its brewer.

He would alternatively sleep in a local Inn or build himself a hammock, resting under a tree nearby a cliff overlooking the Atlantic ocean. No matter where he rested, she was quick to notice how horribly he slept, occasionally waking up in panic and getting up in the middle of the night.

During daytime, he appeared fine at first glance, he was polite and helpful in his interactions with his fellow sailors, the usual business but never went further than the expected interactions between his peers. He even turned down an offer to accompany a group of seamen to a nearby brothel.

But the woman knew better, even if she didn't see how he slept at night. There were subtle signs that her observational skills had picked up on that strongly suggested he was anything but well.

Iain had sometimes an unfocused look, as if he were either lost in thought or using Eagle Vision as this was also a sign of an untrained person using the enhanced sight.

The English woman also suspected the possibility that he was getting some sort of flashback visions. Something she had seen happening to some of her fellows Assassins in the past after they experienced a traumatic event or a disastrous mission.

Victoria had been hesitant to report these details to the mentor as she now knew for certain that the man had no malicious intents toward the brotherhood. He was merely a lost soul that needed support and someone had to address these issues. Otherwise, there could be dire consequences.

Meanwhile, when she wasn't stalking him, the woman read the journal book Iain Keith gave to Achilles, hoping it would help pinpoint the man's problem and she was puzzled by its content.

According to her experience, sailors had a tendency to describe their adventures in extravagant phrasing and often exaggerated their tales.

This book was coldly and clinically written with short but precise descriptions in it. However, nothing about how he or the crew felt. No pretty words to describe the events and if his adventure were described in this fashion. No doubt, this would put even the most hyperactive child asleep.

Yet she knew behind these flat stated facts was a story to be told. The more deductions Victoria made about the sailor, the more questions she had. It was time to confront him.

The woman saw the brief flash of surprise on his face when she introduced herself. Nevertheless, the man remained polite but he was wary of her.

Leaning forward as she continued to stare at the Scotsman, Victoria spoke.

"I read your report, I also know this is your first time in command of a ship, your first vessel being the most powerful in the Assassins' fleet. You escaped from the clutches of a group of Royal Navy ships through a storm and survived a giant wave that apparently sunk your pursuers. Then despite having a skeleton crew, you managed to sail safely from France to the colonies."

Victoria crossed her arms, fixing Iain Keith with a stern gaze and went on.

"If there is someone who earned the right to brag about this, it should be you. Yet you don't, why is that?"

"I did what needed to be done, nothing more, nothing less." Iain shrugged.

"You pulverized a men at war with a few mortar shots." She stated, annoyed by his nonchalant tone.

"Man'o'war." The Scotsman corrected.

"That's what I said." Victoria said with a glare.

"That ship was bombarding us with mortars, killed our captain and his second in command. Something had to be done." Protested the sailor.

The female Assassin noticed the way the sailor wouldn't look in her eyes when he spoke his last words, as if trying to justify the reason behind the use of aggression rather than how he scored his mark and Victoria decided to change tactic.

"Tell me, do you see me in blue, red or yellow?"

Victoria's interlocutor paled at the question. "What?"

"You heard me Iain Keith, do I appear in blue, red or yellow to you?" The Assassin asked sternly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The man stuttered, his native accent getting thicker.

"Ohh, I think you do." The woman said in a low pitched drawl which had a near sensual quality to it.

She could see several emotions crossing his face until it settled for disgust mixed with resignation as he awnsered.

"So that's what it's all about? You're not here for the report but to find anything unnatural and now that you did, you wish to burn me at the stake to exorcist whatever evil lives inside me."

From any response Victoria was expecting, this wasn't one of them. She was caught by surprise as he spoke and felt unexpectedly hurt by the bitter tone in Iain's voice.

She pushed that foreign feeling aside and answered by asking another question in a softer tone.

"What colour do you see me?"

The man stared for a moment as if trying to determine her angle before he replied.

"I see you in blue."

"Then you know I am not here to harm you, if I were to burn you for something unnatural like you said. I might as well burn myself because I happen to have the same ability than you"

Victoria's expression was no longer hard and was replaced with compassion.

"What? How?" Iain asked in disbelief.

"We call this, Eagle Vision, it's an ability that is said has been gifted to us by a civilisation that preceded ours. This special sense allows us to see enemies, friends, persons of interest. It also gives us a battle sense that allows us to predict enemies move before they even attack, I heard this works in naval combat as well. Some people are even able to track and follow someone with it."

"How many people have this.. Eagle Vision? How is it gained?" Asked the Scotsman, gobsmacked at this revelation.

"Not many can use the Eagle Vision. There are three types of people with this ability. Some are born with it, like me, others can develop it through training while the last category suddenly get this power after they have experienced a traumatic event."

As the Assassin lectured, the sailor flinched at Victoria last words and gave her the answer on how he gained the strange ability.

"May I ask how you acquired your Eagle Vision?" The porcelain skinned woman asked.

The man stared a moment. His emotions ranged from wariness to fear and sadness.

"I can see it's been a heavy weight in your mind for a while, I am not here to judge you, I promise."

Victoria spoke in a soft comforting voice. The woman wasn't exactly sure why she was determined to help the Scotsman given that she wasn't very social in nature and tended to keep to herself.

Thinking long and hard, the Assassin came to the conclusion that it was because she had seen the same expression in the mirror. When looking at him, she saw herself through the man.

Iain gulped and after a moment of hesitation, he began to talk.

"It was seven years ago in England. I had a modest but happy life with my fiancée when I caught a burglar trying to sneak in our home. The misfit panicked, he tried to hit me with the poker from the fireplace and incidentally set fire to the house during our struggle."

Victoria briefly interrupted the man as she took hold of his arm, tugging Iain to a nearby couch and gently made him sit down. The woman gestured the sailor to continue his story.

"While dodging the burglar, I hit my head against the wall, not enough to knock me out but I was dazed and stunned for a moment. When I came back to my senses, the entire room was on fire, I barely escaped by throwing myself out the window."

Iain paused to reign his emotions and went on.

"I could hear my fiancée screaming for help, she was blocked inside on the second floor in our room, I yelled out for her to break the window and jump. That I would catch her but the house collapsed before she managed to get out."

A lone tear fell, sliding on Iain's cheek. Victoria grasped his hand and captured it between hers. She didn't say a word, letting the man speak. His emotions flowed out the way an angry crowd stormed in after they broke through a barrier.

"I was consumed by grief and rage. Then, I felt everything change, like I just shut the world out. I started to see yellow traces on the ground and what looked like a ghostly shape that I recognised as the burglar running away. I followed him until I caught up and confronted him.

"I instantly knew where he would strike before he even attacked and before I knew it, he was down on the ground, begging for his life but I would hear none of it. I was too blind in my anger." Iain talked, ashamed of himself as he recalled how he lost control of his emotions.

"Did you feel satisfied?" Victoria inquired.

"I thought I would but no, all I felt was a hollow sensation of emptiness. Vengeance doesn't bring any satisfaction and it definitely won't bring her back."

"I understand how you feel, I lost my mentor years ago thanks to a traitor. Like you, I tracked the bastard and painfully made him know what I thought of his actions. But as you said, vengeance doesn't resurrect the dead." Victoria said sadly.

"My mentor would have been dismayed if he saw me lose control like that, so what did you do?" The Assassin asked softly.

"I felt like I had nothing left to live for." Iain eyes wandered toward his arm, the woman followed his gaze, she rolled the sleeve to expose a scar on his wrist. Holding out a gasp, understanding what the man had attempted.

"I was saved by a seaman and nursed back to health by his family. The sailor served aboard an Assassin vessel, though I didn't know it at the time or knew their existence in the first place. He offered me to join the crew of a ship if I wanted to get away, telling me it would at least help numb whatever pain I felt by leaving it behind."

"So you left England to join a crew." The Assassin stated.

"Not quite, I wanted to investigate this strange ability you call Eagle Vision. I went to a doctor and tried to explain that, only to be denounced as practitioner of witchcraft. I had no choice but to flee as the village authorities has been set on me. That sealed my decision to leave Britain and not look behind." Iain concluded his tale bitterly.

"Me too, I left for the new world to forget the pain of loosing my mentor. Not a good method to cope but it was the only way I could think of. We have a fair number of Assassins with Eagle Vision but most aren't gifted with this ability." Victoria sympathized with Iain's situation which mostly mirrored her own.

"I am often envied because I am extremely good at what I do, I can accurately cut a rope with a pistol from as far as the weapon I wield is capable of. Several of my fellow Assassins regard me with fear and distrust because I am unnaturally fast and able at fighting."

There was no bragging in her voice, no pride, she was merely telling a fact. Victoria had to admit that her behaviour hadn't helped her cause, the Assassin was a quiet brooding woman with a nasty streak.

One of her worst moments was when Victoria had sailed to the colonies, people were normally too scared to approach her but there are rare occasions where some men had been brave or stupid enough to accost her. A sailor tried to do so in quite a rude manner. After a warning ignored, she slit the man's throat with her hidden blade when he made the mistake of laying an arm on the woman's shoulders.

As she confided this to the Scottish man, Victoria was surprised when she found herself unable to look at him. Afraid to see disgust or fear in his eyes but the sailor surprised the Assassin not only with his words but the honesty in it.

"I won't lie to you, killing him after a single warning is a little harsh when you could simply knock him down but I understand. I often see a lot of my peers behaving in less than examplary way. On this trip alone, I had to take step in order to keep the ill behaved in check. Beside, I'd be a hypocrite to condemn you considering I just admitted to murdering someone in vengeful anger." Iain finished his phrase with convictions lacing his words.

"I thought I succeeded in leaving my pain and past behind until we were attacked by the British and sunk that man'o'war." The Scotsman said quietly, the comforting words and presence from Victoria gave him the strenght to go on.

"I don't understand, perhaps you should tell me from the start what happened with the Fortress." Victoria frowned, wondering what his past trauma had to do with being hunted by English forces.

Taking a deep breath, Iain began his tale, starting with how he learned that they were to leave port in haste, protesting to his superior officer over the lack of crew and the arrival of the escorting ships only to be besieged in an organised onslaught by the Royal Navy.

Iain spoke softly as he recounted how the impressive second rate Tonnerre and its brother in arms, the Renegat, valiantly fought despite the impossible odds. The horror of watching the defeat of those mighty vessels. The first rate man'o'war intercepting them and bombarding the Fortress with mortars, killing the Captain, severely injuring Commander Leclerc in the process and forcing the Scotsman to take over.

"We were desperate, I used my Eagle Vision to aim the mortars, I discovered by experience that it also works in naval combat. When operating a mortar, I knew by instinct how much powder to use depending the distance I want to shoot just like I know where to point the weapon in proportion to the wind, waves and ship movements. I also knew which angle I had to raise these brand new type of mortars despite the fact that I never even saw them in the first place."

There wasn't any bragging in Iain's voice at admitting this capacity to surgically aim the weapons. Instead, the sailor looked like he was unloading a burden he's been holding for a long time despite his monotone voice.

Victoria didn't say a word, letting the Scottish man tell his story. Her knowledge of ships were sporadic at best but weapons are a different matter. Mortars, a long range artillery used to besiege or defend a forts against mass armies and normally relying on proximity damages for effect which also equipped some warships. They required vigorous training in order to get some semblance of accuracy but in the hand of someone with an ability to instinctively aim them precisely. This transformed an otherwise raw unrefined support weapon to an instrument of destruction capable of literally raining death over unfortunate enemies.

"Out of the fifteen shots fired, eleven hit their mark, the projectile where filled with oil that would be ignited when it detonated on impact, these things were incredibly efficient. It was horrible, I could see the adverse crew, some of them in flames, jumping out panicked in the water. A man'o'war like that requires at a very least seven hundred men to operate it, this number can climb to one thousand if you add the boarding contingents."

Despite the depressed tone Iain spoke in, Victoria couldn't help but find herself entranced by the man's tale and voice.

"Then I found myself staring at my home when it was burning, yelling out for Helena to jump the window. It was like I was relieving my past memories, it's been like this since I sunk that ship. Sometimes, I still see the man'o'war in my dreams, burning while the crew jumps in order to escape the fire."

The man finished this part of the tale with a miserable expression, not looking at the woman's eyes who again understood his problem. She herself had faced her own set of drama in the unpredictable life involved from being an Assassin.

There was the root of his problem. Like Victoria thought, he was experiencing flashbacks caused by a traumatic event that he buried until he faced that ship and destroyed it in a manner eerily similar to how he lost his fiancée. None of these details such as the efficiency of the mortars or his chaotic feeling were written on the report, only that the Fortress fought and sunk a man'o'war.

"I can't say I fully understand what you are going through but I can assure you that I've seen a lot of Assassins in your situation, traumatised by a mission which turned out for the worst." The beautiful Assassin sympathised.

These were not really words of comfort. Victoria wasn't good at comforting people who were hurting, so she contented herself to give a squeeze of his hand which apparently was the right thing to do as the Scotsman nodded in gratitude and went on.

Iain spoke of the chase through the storm and the freakwave that allowed them to escape.

At this, Victoria's porcelain face turned even paler than her normal skin tone, her cheeks puffed at the thought of the giant wave. Remembering when she travelled from London to the colonies, the woman thought of the sensation she felt when the ship would travel through rought waves and how sick the Assassin felt as result.

Iain ended his story as he talked about Leclerc's passing, the secret directive and the subsequent travel. How he had to keep the crew in check, the suspicions and rumours about using witchcraft or making a deal with the devil to get the ship out of danger.

As she listened to his tale, the woman found her admiration for the sailor growing with each words he said. The man not only took control of a desperate situation but he had to face four threats together. The first taking in the form of Royal Navy forces, followed by the temperamental weather, the Scotsman had to fight his own demons and finally the potential danger of a mutiny from the crew.

Coming out from her thought, Victoria saw that the man again, wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Look at me, Iain." Getting no reaction from him, she repeated in a pleading voice, "look at me, please." The seamen finally raised his head and met the Assassin's icy coloured gaze.

"I am sorry for what you had to endure, I think you did the right thing. In my opinion, you are a hero, you're my hero, Iain Keith." The Assassin blushed lightly as she breathed out that confession.

The piercing gaze and sincerity in the woman's voice made the sailor turn a bright shade of red and Victoria held back a giggle. But now wasn't the time for laughter, she adressed her interlocutor.

"I can't do much about the suspicion of witchcraft but I can definitely help with your flashback problem and train you to fully master your Eagle Vision. I take it you mostly use it when stressed out?"

As the Assassin received a nod from Iain, Victoria started her explanation.

"It's a good thing when you are in battle, but you should also learn to use it while you are fully quiet and not in a life endangering situation. I'll teach you relaxing techniques that will allow you to use the ability while remaining calm at the same time, we'll hopefully deal with your inner demons from the past in the process."

"I think I'd like that," Iain answered with relief and apprehension at the same time.

"Good, I have one condition thought." Stated the porcelain faced woman.

"Condition?" Came the wary response from the Scots.

"Yes, I want something from you." The Assassin said firmly and did nothing to reassure the sailor as he asked. "Which is?"

"Your friendship." Her huge eyes pierced Iain's own while speaking the last part. The woman wasn't sure why she said that as Victoria didn't have many friends in the past, she was not even sure what friendship was in fact but it felt like the right thing to say.

Astonished by her words, the man took a few seconds to recover from her unexpected request and let out a small smile, the first one Victoria saw since she began her observation of the man. That smile looked good on him in her opinion.

"I'm Iain Keith." The sailor reintroduced himself while presenting his hand.

Her cheeks reddening slightly. She took the proffered hand, smiling prettily and replied in a warm tone.

"Victoria Smith."

As the man got his own blush under control, the woman spoke in a serious tone while still maintaining a pleasant voice.

"I understand that you were weary of your voyage but I think it might be good to apologise to the mentor, even though you were right, it would help to build bridges here in the new world."

Iain winced at the reminder of how he basically shoved the ship log in Achilles hands and walked out on him.

"You're right, I think i'll do that."

"Wonderful," smiled the Assassin before she spoke with authority. "Be ready at dawn. After breakfast, we'll go to Achilles first and start your training in Eagle Vision. Don't be late and good night."

Victoria opened the window and silently disappeared into the night.

'Okay, what just happened here?' Iain thought bewildered by the deadly Assassin's words and how things had evolved. This was certainly... an eventful night to say the least.

For the first time in several days, the Scotsman was able to sleep free of nightmares.

 **End.**


End file.
